


Warm Bantha Milk

by Pokkit



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Daddy Zeb, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grumpy Kallus, M/M, No seriously Kallus needs to stop, Overworking, Zeb takes matters into his own hands, no beta we die like men, oh yes there is alcohol, super fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pokkit/pseuds/Pokkit
Summary: little0bird and I joked about this concept with each other after she wrote a mention of it into her story Reckoning, and I finally committed my version to words. It ended up a little more serious and less silly/funny than I had originally thought of it, but that's just where my brain goes, I guess. I hope you enjoy it anyway!
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Warm Bantha Milk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little0bird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/gifts).



“Garazeb, I am  _ busy _ ,” Kallus grumbled for what felt like the fiftieth time. “Information doesn’t stop coming just because we are tired.”

Zeb scowled at him. “No, I know it don’t,” he grumbled back. “But everybody’s got to stop sometime.”

“Not in Intelligence,” Kallus countered. He was deep in his third pass through an Imperial shipping manifest. He wasn’t sure what his next task would be, but surely it would come soon. He decided to humor Zeb a little, by looking up at him instead of at his datapad. His lover’s scowl only deepened. “What?”

“Those bags under your eyes. How long have you been here today?”

“Sixteen, I think, maybe eighteen hours.”

“Your shift is supposed to be twelve.” Zeb looked pointedly around the room. Following his gaze, Kallus realized that most of the faces had changed since he had settled at his desk that morning. Everyone else had stuck to their shift change. “And look at that, there goes another agent. Leaving her desk. Oh look, she seems to be handing her research off to that guy that just walked in, looking all refreshed…”

Kallus glared at Zeb. “Point taken. Now please go and let me just finish this task. I promise I will take a break when I get through this manifest.”

“How many times have you gone over it?”

“This is the third,” Kallus answered mechanically, before realizing that Zeb had just trapped him. “I’m being  _ thorough _ .”

“Thought you said agents are supposed to pass things on to someone else to double-check after two read-throughs.”

“Yes, well, I got interrupted during my second pass.” When Zeb raised his eyebrows at him, he clarified, “AP-5 stopped by with fresh data tapes I’d requisitioned, and naturally he lingered to complain at me about everything.” 

“So you could take a break to listen to AP-5,” Zeb accused. “But not to rest and recharge yourself?”

“Zeb,” Kallus sighed, “It’s what I do. You know this. I don’t know why it still makes you so angry…” he trailed off as Zeb stormed away to accost another intelligence agent who had just walked in. He missed what Zeb said to the young Sullustan at the start, but as Zeb then returned to Kallus’s desk with the Sullustan in tow, he could hear quite plainly what continued.

“...so since you don’t have anything yet, here, Captain Kallus was just getting ready to hand this off. Here you go.” Kallus let out a shocked squawk of protest as Zeb tugged the datapad from his grasp and handed it to the other being standing there. He managed to school his reaction to something less undignified as his partner hauled him up out of his chair by the arm, and signaled his thanks to the Sullustan agent (he didn’t know their name, they must be new) with a gesture as he was “escorted” to the door. 

Zeb did not release his arm until they were aboard the  _ Ghost _ and headed to his -  _ their _ \- cabin. The smell of freshly-brewed caf wafted towards him from the galley, and he turned in that direction, murmuring “Just let me grab a cup of--”

“Oh no you don’t,” Zeb interjected, placing both hands on Kallus’s shoulders and steering him towards their cabin. “I’m taking care of you tonight, and you are going straight to bed. I’ve got something special for you.” 

Kallus stifled a sigh and allowed himself to be pushed into the cabin and down onto the bed. He didn’t notice at first that Chopper was following them, but Zeb turned to leave and told him “I’ll be right back, get yourself comfortable. And don’t even think about going anywhere ‘cept maybe the fresher. Chopper’s under strict orders to keep you from leaving.”

“Whose, yours or Hera’s?” Kallus inquired, trying and failing to sound casual and not at all like he was testing the strength of those orders. Zeb just glared at him before leaving the room, and Chopper brandished his manipulators and whistled out a “do you really want to test that?” in binary. Finally indulging in a resigned sigh, Kallus rolled his eyes at the droid and said “I suppose you’ll have to escort me to the refresher, then.”

By the time Zeb returned, Kallus had made his chaperoned trip to the fresher, changed his clothes, and settled onto the bed with his personal datapad. All thoughts of catching up on his reading, however, went out the airlock when Zeb pulled the datapad from his hands (gently, this time) and replaced it with a warm mug. He peered in, and scoffed when he saw the thick, blue contents.

“Zeb. I am not a child,” he grumbled, leveling a withering look at his partner. 

“Well, you’re acting like one, avoiding bedtime. That’s to put you to sleep. Just drink it.” Zeb punctuated his order with a stern glare. Kallus, returning said glare and holding Zeb’s eyes the whole way, slowly raised the mug to his lips. As soon as it came near his face, Kallus involuntarily broke the resentful eye contact with Zeb, his eyes widening in surprise.

“What did you put in this?” he demanded incredulously.

“Whiskey,” Zeb said matter-of-factly. “The Corellian stuff you like. Enough to make sure you get to sleep, but not so much it’ll curdle the milk. ‘S a trick I learned from Kanan, warm milk to relax you and booze to knock you out for sure. Now drink up.”

“Oh good,” Kallus deadpanned before taking a tentative sip. “Now you’re drugging me.” He didn’t want to admit that the mixture was pretty satisfying on the tongue, but felt the corners of his mouth quirk upward involuntarily. “I suppose this is better than using an interrogation droid.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Zeb quipped. “That’s still on the table, if this doesn’t work.”

“What is all this about, Zeb? You’ve suddenly become far more militant in your insistence on me getting more rest.” It was true; though his partner did often pester him to take breaks and eat well, this was a new level of duress.

“Kal, I know you don’t often look at yourself in a mirror, but you should see how much of a wreck you are right now. It’s not just me, others are starting to notice it, too. That new medic we picked up last week asked me if you had an underlying condition they should know about.” Kallus scoffed, so Zeb pressed on. “I’m not makin’ that up, Kal. You’re losing weight, you’ve got bags under your eyes, even your hair is getting dull. Too much caf and not enough food or sleep is not healthy. And it’s gonna start affecting your mind. And then where will we be? Our best intel officer going down the garbage compactor because he was too much of a stubborn kit to take care of himself. So I’m takin’ care of you instead. Someone’s gotta do it.”

Kallus tried not to let it show how much that tirade affected him. It was true, he hadn’t looked at himself in a few days at least - it was always easier to not have to look into his own eyes and see his own guilt and self-loathing staring back. But he’d been eating. Hells, just this morning, he’d… well, he’d had a ration bar, at least. And then… no, he worked through lunch, just grabbing another cup of caf in the office. Well, he had noticed that his trousers were looser, his shirts as well. And just as he began to think that Zeb must have put far too much whiskey in his bantha milk, Kallus realized that he used to be the only one on the ship that could keep pace with Zeb’s drinking.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “I suppose next you’ll be telling me a bedtime story.”

“Make light of it if you want, but I’m setting you a curfew and insisting you eat supper with the family from now on. And before you protest - yeh I see you - Draven is on board with this plan.”

“You went to Draven behind my back?!?!” Kallus’s outrage was overshadowed only by the final realization that if the general was complicit in this parental-style caretaking scheme, he must really be in as bad of shape as Zeb was insisting. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus. The look he fixed on Zeb after that was far less resentful, far more cautiously accepting. “Fine. Message received. I will endeavor to follow the rules,  _ Father _ .” He couldn’t resist throwing in that dig at the end, against his better judgment.

“Ew,” Zeb cringed. “If you’re gonna call me something like that, at least call me  _ Daddy _ .” His voice lowered seductively as he said it, reminding Kallus that no, there was nothing parental about Zeb after all, despite tonight’s behavior. “Now, about that bedtime story…”

Kallus laughed in spite of himself. The whiskey must have been to blame for then allowing Zeb to fluff and arrange pillows behind him to support his back and tuck a blanket around him - he’d never let Zeb get away with such fussing if he was sober, if he wasn’t feeling so warm and so blurry around the edges. Surely. As it was, he limply settled among the pillows and brought his mug slowly to his lips again.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Ezra and I went meiloorun shopping for Hera and got a TIE instead?”

Kallus chuckled, his eyelids feeling remarkably heavy. “You have, but I’d like to hear it again,” he heard himself say. Really, Zeb’s voice was just a pleasant buzz in his ears at this point. He vaguely heard Zeb getting to the point where the stormtrooper walked off with the crate of fruit before feeling a light tug at his hands, followed by the shift of a blanket and a soft momentary pressure on his forehead.

The next he was aware of, Zeb was snoring beside him, and Ezra snoring above them. The chronometer across the room read a good twelve hours later than he remembered. For a brief moment, Kallus panicked, thinking he was late to his desk, and surely had work waiting for him. But slowly, the memory of Zeb taking the trouble to baby him and being so concerned about his health came back to his mind, and Kallus turned as best he could, wrapped an arm around his partner, and took the time to mentally plan his day - being sure to account for breaks and an early bedtime.


End file.
